


How It Felt

by AWriting



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not Bucky anymore, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Past Rape/Non-con, Porn With Plot, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Rumlow redemption, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 01:16:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3958969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWriting/pseuds/AWriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even after months on the run, the Soldier was still surprised by what it was like to feel things again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How It Felt

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise, I'm writing more Bucky. I always write Bucky. I wanted to tell a Rumlow Redemption story and that kind of mutated into this.  
> Just FYI, at one point I mention temperature and I'm using Fahrenheit. Cause I know all the Celsius users will be like what? So just wanted to clarify that right off the bat.  
> Not beta read and only minimally edited by me. So sorry for any mistakes.  
> I hope you like!

Even after months on the run, the Soldier was still surprised by what it was like to feel things again.

Before he went off mission, the Soldier couldn't remember the last time he had really felt anything. Not heat, not cold. Not anger or happiness. No sensation, no emotion. There was no room for it. He was a machine. He was an asset.

It was all such a blur. All those years working for Hydra. Mission after mission. It was like none of it had really happened. Or it had been a dream. After each wipe, it was like being born again. No memories. No thoughts. No feelings. Just the mission.

The Soldier knew now that wasn't really true. It had started to come back. He remembered things. About his missions. About what he had done. He had felt things. They were just dull thrummings in the back of his mind. Vague twitches in his programming. But they were there. He could only remember it in an out of body way, though. Like it hadn't really been him doing those things, feeling those things.

And he remembered before, too. He recognized the man on the bridge. The man on the helicarrier. His mission. Steve Rogers, the internet and museum told him. Stevie, his newfound memories told him.

But the other man in those memories. Bucky. He didn't know that man. He didn't recognize him. It definitely wasn't the Soldier. When the man on the bridge had called him that, he knew it was wrong. He knew he wasn't that person. But he didn't really feel like the Soldier now either.

He could feel now, though.

Emotions had come back to him. Mostly anger. Towards himself for being a monster. Towards Hydra for making him a monster. Towards the world for being a shitty place.

He preferred sensation to emotion.

Like now, as the snow fell heavily around him. He lifted his metal hand which was heavy and cold, the mechanical whirring sounding slow and sick, and watched as the flakes gathered on it for a moment before melting. He couldn't feel his flesh hand anymore which was an interesting sensation in itself. It was turning blue.

"I thought you might come here," the man who had spent the last five minutes crashing through the woods said. The man who the soldier knew was skilled enough to not have to crash through the woods. The man who had silently moved through every kind of environment before with the Soldier at his side. The man who obviously wanted the Soldier to know he was coming.

Rumlow.

That was his name.

The Soldier studied him intently. He remembered Rumlow. They had worked together. Rumlow led the Soldier's support team on many missions. He looked a little different. New scars on his face that disappeared under the collar of his jacket, pulling his face at strange angles. But he stood the same. Carried himself the same way. Moved the same way now that he had made contact with the Soldier.

"I heard you went off-mission in DC," Rumlow continued. "Thought you must be...remembering."

"Are you going to turn me in to them?" The Soldier asked. He didn't know why, but he didn't want to fight this man. But he would if he had to.

"Fuck no," Rumlow spat.

His eyes narrowed. Why would this man want to protect him? "You don't work for them anymore?"

Rumlow shrugged. "Never really did. Worked for Fury the whole time. Everything I did was orchestrated by him."

The Soldier was surprised. Rumlow had played his part very well.

"Can we go inside?" The man asked. "It's fucking freezing out here."

Yes, the Soldier was cold too.

He nodded and followed as the man turned back into the brush.

Rumlow led him to a small cabin less than a quarter of a mile away. There was one bedroom to one side. A square table with two chairs in the back corner and a small kitchenette next to it. A couch and a fireplace near the front of the cabin. As far as safe houses went, it wasn't too bad. The Soldier had stayed in worse.

"Here," Rumlow said once the Soldier had closed the door behind him, holding some clothes out between them. "You shouldn't wear those wet things... James."

His eyes flicked from the clothes to Rumlow, studying the man closely. He felt something. But he didn't know what it was.

James. Maybe he could be James.

He took the clothes and began to change. Rumlow turned his back to James and moved over to the small stove, filling a kettle with water and setting it on the burner.

"Here, sit," the man said once James was dressed again in the dry clothes, motioning towards one of the chairs next to the table. James moved slowly, sinking down into the chair.

"Let me see your hand." Rumlow sat down in the other chair next to him and stretched his scarred, calloused hand across the table, reaching for James. When James shrunk back, shielding his metal hand with his body, the man said, "No, your other hand."

The real hand. The flesh and blood one. The one that was still blue-tinged. Nobody ever wanted to see that hand.

James reached out tentatively, laying his hand down in Rumlow's palm. The man took James' hand in both of his warm ones and began to rub circles into it slowly, gently, getting the blood flowing again.

James could feel it. It felt nice.

"I remember this place," James said. "We've been here before."

Rumlow's hands didn't stop, but his gaze flicked to James' face in surprise. "Yes, we were being followed after a mission so we hid here. This is my place."

"It was snowing, then, too," James added, his face scrunching up as he tried to pull the memory fully out of its hiding place.

"Yes," the man agreed again, his hands moving up to James' forearm. "We got stranded here in a blizzard for almost a week."

"Everything stopped working," he remembered, his eyes roaming around the small cabin, recalling the darkness and the quiet.

Rumlow's breathing was suddenly heavier, his eyes a bit frantic. He stopped rubbing James' arm and sat back. Slowly, haltingly, he said, "The electricity went out. It was, like, negative twenty degrees in here. I was wearing all the clothes I had brought with me."

"But you were still cold," James murmured as the scene began to form in his mind. Rumlow wrapped in blankets, a hot mug in his hands. The Soldier not feeling the cold beyond a small irritation. Watching Rumlow. Worried. He had felt worried.

His eyes met Rumlow's.

"Yes," the man said and nothing more needed to be said about what else had happened that night.

"I remember," James whispered.

Rumlow dropped his head into his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. "I'm so sorry," he choked out. "I felt so, so terrible after that night when I realized...when I realized how I had taken advantage of you."

"What do you mean?" James asked. He would've thought if anyone had done something wrong, it was the Soldier.

Rumlow looked up at James, his eyes in agony. "You were...you took orders. You did whatever your handlers told you. And you saw me as your handler because I was the highest ranking, the only, person here so of course you would've done whatever I wanted."

"No," James said firmly. That was all wrong. That’s not what he remembered. "I remember. I wanted to. I wanted you."

The kettle let out a shrill noise and both men jumped in surprise. Rumlow got up and pulled it off, dropping tea bags into two chipped mugs and filling each of them with the hot water. He placed them both on the table and sat back down, his face still heavy with grief. Rumlow shook his head, running his hand through his hair. "Still, it wasn't right. You weren't in a place where you could really give consent. I shouldn't've let it get that far."

"No," James said again, his voice hard and determined.

A distressed noise released from Rumlow's throat and he gripped his hair tight in his hands. "When they finally picked us up and they put you back in that chair. I wanted to...God, I came so close to killing everyone in that chamber. Blowing my cover and busting you out. Fuck." He looked up at James again. "I would've done it. But I hesitated too long. And then you were gone again. Fuck. I…I can still hear you screaming."

"No," James said again. "You couldn’t. You had a mission to complete."

"Fuck the mission," Rumlow spat, his eyes blazing. "I would've done it for you."

James held his gaze for a moment. He believed this man. Knew, in the very deepest parts of him, that this man cared about him. About the Soldier. About James.

"Why?" He finally asked. "I was nothing. I was empty."

To his surprise, Rumlow smiled in response, though his eyes were still full of pain. "No. No, you were always...something. You were so strong. Everything you went through… A weaker man would've folded a hundred times over. And you were smart. Could analyze every situation in seconds. You were...you were..." His eyes roamed over James' face as he searched for the word, his own face darkening a bit more. "Compassionate. As much as you could be. You did what you had to do quickly, efficiently, causing people as little pain as possible. Not drawing anything out. I could tell you hated it. The missions, the killing." Then his smile widened again, even flickering in his eyes this time. "And you were always so damn curious. Anytime you saw something you didn't recognize. New technology or whatever. You would be dying to get your hands on it. The first time I pulled out my cell phone in front of you during transport..."

The man trailed off, his head and shoulders shaking in amusement. James licked his lips and said, "I remember. You...you laughed at me."

When Rumlow looked back at James, his eyes were soft, kind. "Yeah, 'cause it was fucking adorable. That was the first time I ever saw you smile. I mean...it wasn't a real smile, I guess. But the sides of your mouth turned up and you looked...you looked almost happy."

"I wanted to make you laugh again," James murmured. Beginning to realize how much the Soldier had cared about this man, too.

Rumlow's eyes turned sad, the light in them dying and his mouth dropping. A bit more coldly, he said, "Steve Rogers is looking for you."

James shook his head. "He's looking for a dead man. I'm not him anymore. Bucky Barnes. I can't be him."

Rumlow's eyes widened in surprise. "I thought you'd want to go back to him."

"There's no point," James insisted. His face cold, closed-off. "The man he knew...the man he was in love with...the man who loved him is gone."

Something sprang into Rumlow's eyes. Hope, maybe. But fleeting. A wish. Like he was making a wish.

"You don't love him anymore?" Rumlow asked slowly, cautiously.

"Bucky Barnes loved Steve Rogers. I'm not Bucky Barnes." He didn't know why he wanted Rumlow to accept this. To understand it. But he did. He was desperate for the other man to get it. He continued, “I’m not…Steve and I were…” He let out a frustrated growl. “I still care about him. I always will, I think. But we’ll never be able to go back to what we were. I’m not in love with him anymore. That part is…That part is over.”

Silence fell between them. Rumlow reached out again and took James' hand, which he realized he never moved from the table, in his own and began rubbing circles into it again. It was already back to its normal color, the finger tips tingling as his enhanced system brought the limb back to life.

"They knew you trusted me." Rumlow said after a minute, his fingers massaging James’ skin gently. "They used me to keep you in line if you tried to fight back. I let them abuse your trust in me."

"You had a mission," James responded. His eyes fixated on Rumlow's hands rubbing his.

"I hated it." Rumlow's voice was low, earnest. As if he was confessing his sins to his priest. "But I was also glad because it meant my team was sent on missions with you and not anyone else."

"I'm glad it was you too." James closed his hand around Rumlow's, stopping his ministrations, fingers gripping tight to the scarred skin. "I don't blame you for the things you had to do."

Rumlow smiled sadly, studying the tangled hands. "I blame me."

James lifted his metal hand and let the finger tips brush over the scars that had taken over large portions of Rumlow's face.

One corner of the man's mouth turned up in a smirk. "Pretty gruesome, huh? Not quite as handsome as I used to be."

"Still handsome." James matched his smirk and dropped his hand back to his side. "Brock."

He wasn't sure where he had pulled the name from. It was like it had been sitting on his tongue waiting to be spoken. Hiding just behind his thoughts.

"I thought you didn't remember," Rumlow said.

James shrugged. He didn't. But he did. His mind was a weird place these days.

Brock leaned back, pulling his hand out of James' and running it through his hair casually. "So what's your next move?"

James mimicked Brock's relaxed pose, crossing his arms over his chest trying to ignore the tingling feeling of loss in his flesh hand. "Find the next Hydra base to take out. You?"

Brock smiled and shrugged, studying his hands in his lap. "SHIELD's gone. Left me for dead in the Triskelion. No fucking way I'm going back to Hydra. Maybe I'll go mercenary for a while. Or..." His eyes slid up to land on James. "I could come with you. If you want some help."

James smiled. He couldn't think of anything he wanted more than to keep Brock with him. He'd probably live in this tiny cabin for the rest of his life if Brock asked him to. "I think we could work something out."

Brock's smile turned into a full grin as he dropped his eyes again. Clearing his throat and leaning forward in his chair with his elbows on the table, he said, "where's your intel coming from? You've taken out bases I didn't even know existed until I heard rumors about them being gone."

"Our good friend Steve Rogers." James smirked. "He thinks he's following me, but really I'm following him to where he thinks I'm going to go. And I take out the base while he's still planning his grand entrance."

"Fuck, no joke?" Brock shook his head in amazement. Then he asked thoughtfully, "how'd you end up here then?"

"Took down a base about 3 days northeast of here," James started.

" _North_ east of here? Christ. I never did get Hydra's tendency to put bases in the ass crack of nowhere."

James chuckled in agreement. The cabin was already in north central Canada. There was nothing north of here except ice and bears and what used to be a hydra base.

"Found myself without any decent means of transport when the hangar blew before I could get anything out," he continued, rubbing his hand along the stubble on his jaw. "I remembered..." No, that wasn't quite right. "I had an...impression of this place. That it was safe. So I started making my way here as best I could. Didn't really have any idea if I was going the right way. Just trying to follow my instincts hoping it led somewhere."

Rumlow studied him. His eyes shining with something that James both recognized and couldn't quite place. Something he was sure he had seen before but didn't know when. Seemed like another lifetime.

Leaning forward, he dragged his chair closer to the corner edge until his stomach was pressed against the table. The sound of it scraping across the wood floors sudden and grating in the quiet cabin. But like with the man and the woods, James wanted Brock to know he was coming.

He took one of Brock's hands in his firmly, not wanting to lose the warmth of it again, and then closed the rest of the distance between their lips, pressing a soft but insistent kiss against the man's mouth.

Brock was breathing heavily through his nose. He let out a desperate noise when their lips touched and gripped onto James' hand tightly.

All at once, he pulled away, his chair scraping on the ground in the other direction so he could stand and take several large steps away before stopping with his back to James.

James stood too, but stayed next to the table, making no effort to close the distance between them again. He watched as Brock paced for a minute, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. After a minute, he stopped and pulled his heavy jacket off with a frustrated huff. As if he had just remembered he was wearing it and was suddenly very hot.

James admired the way the black t-shirt stretched over Brock's thick shoulders and the weapons harness pulled over his broad chest. He remembered the one time he had been able to feel them. Feel as they wrapped tightly around him and held him close. Feel the way they curved under his lips.

But like most of his memories, he remembered it from almost a third person perspective. As if it had been another person feeling those things, and the ghost of touch and warmth that he remembered wasn’t really his. Wasn’t actually his own memory.

James wanted to feel it. He wanted to remember it for him. Not the Soldier.

He frowned as he took in the scars that ran down Brock's arms. He hated that the man had clearly been in a lot of pain recently and wondered how wounds that extensive could've healed into such thick scars so quickly.

Brock turned back to him suddenly.

His eyes were narrowed as he watched James. "Why?" He asked. "I mean, you don't even remember me, right? I've known you for almost a decade but you couldn't have anywhere near that kind of memory of me."

"It's enough," James answered, taking a step towards the man.

"Is it?" Brock demanded, his voice ragged and disbelieving. "You don't remember the things I did...the things I let them do to you to maintain my cover."

James paused, his eyes suddenly guarded. "Did you know about Rollins?"

Brock's eyebrows pulled downwards in confusion. "What about Rollins?"

James nodded and took another step towards Brock so they were only separated by a few inches. "You didn't. That's what I thought."

"What about Rollins?" Brock searched his face desperately, looking for clues. "What did that asshole do?"

James winced a little. He shouldn't have brought it up at all. But it's the one thing that might've changed his mind about Brock, so even though he strongly doubted that the man had known anything, he needed to know for sure. "He…used me. The way you think you used me last time we were here. But I didn’t…I didn’t want him."

"Fuck," Brock breathed, his eyes widening in horror. His hands came up to cup James' face gently. "I didn't...I swear I didn't know. Fuck." He closed his eyes tight and let his forehead rest against James'. "I'm going to fucking kill that son of a bitch."

"He's already dead." James shrugged, his hands finding their way to Brock's hips and pulling him closer.

"James." The man whispered and James could feel the way the air moved as he spoke. "I'm so sorry, James."

He let their noses rub against each other for a moment tenderly before he murmured, "not your fault, Brock."

Brock chuckled a bit and James could feel the way it rumbled in his chest before spilling out of his throat.

"I think you could tell me that a million times and I wouldn't ever believe you," he said.

"Ain't gonna stop me from trying." James punctuated the sentence by claiming Brock's mouth again.

He reveled in the way Brock responded. He felt the hot press of Brock's tongue against his lips and way the man's fingers scraped through the hairs at the nape of his neck.

He parted his lips and let Brock dominate the kiss, savoring the sensations of Brock's tongue in his mouth and Brock's body against his own. He wondered how he could've ever forgotten this. Forgotten how this felt.

One of Brock's arms slipped around his waist and tightened it so they were flush against each other. He parted their lips just enough to say, “Tell me to stop, James. I’m not him. Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

James moved his hands up, feeling the hard lines of Brock’s back under his fingers and trying to memorize it all at once. He whispered, “I don’t want you to stop.”

Brock growled low in his chest and crushed their lips together again heatedly, turning them and pushing James back against the wall. James moaned in appreciation as the man pressed even closer to him, their bodies melding together perfectly. He couldn’t get enough of the feeling.

Brock gasped as James slipped his leg into the opening between his thighs and pushed against his growing arousal. Stutteringly, he pushed out the words, "don't want to do anything you don't want to."

"Want you," James replied against the man's lips as he deliberately rubbed against the hardness again. 

"Fuck," Brock moaned helplessly, his head dropping to James' shoulder. "Feels real good, darlin'."

James smiled. He liked making this man feel good. 

He pushed his nose to the man's neck and dragged it down the rough skin, inhaling deeply. He remembered this. The scent. Gunpowder and leather and spearmint. 

Brock's hand buried itself in his hair, pulling gently so that his head tilted back. James almost went limp at the feeling of Brock trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses up his neck and grinding against his leg. A breathless groan escaped his lips. 

He reached for the man's belt, but was stopped by Brock's hand. 

"Don't have to do this," Brock murmured against his neck. "Don't have to do anything."

"I know. I know," James panted in return, pushing Brock's hand away. "Want to. Want you."

He grabbed onto the belt buckle, but pushed on the man's chest with his other hand. Covering the confused look on Brock's face with a heated kiss, James used the belt to pull him towards the bedroom where, if his memory was worth anything, a large bed waited for them. 

Brock kicked the door to the bedroom shut behind them as James slipped his shirt over his head. Licking his lips, Brock let his eyes roam over the bare flesh hungrily before reaching out and pulling James back to him. 

James went willingly, meeting Brock halfway for a sloppy, desperate kiss. His hands pulled at the hem of Brock's shirt, brushing against the hot skin under it, and growled in frustration when he met resistance. Brock pulled off the weapons harness much more clumsily than was usual for the man before whipping the tight shirt over his head in a quick movement. 

The newly revealed scars covering the man's torso made him pause. His hands ghosted over them carefully, feeling the new roughness but also the achingly familiar curves of the muscle underneath. 

Brock's hands covered James' suddenly and his breath hitched as he placed the metal and flesh to his waist, stepping close again. James reveled in the warmth emanating from Brock's body, closing his eyes and pulling the man with him as he stepped backwards. 

His knees hit the bed and he fell back onto it, the soft mattress giving way under him as he sat. James watched eagerly as Brock divested himself of the rest of his clothes, and quickly pulled off the sweatpants he had been given to wear, dropping them on the floor next to Brock's things. 

When the man leaned over James again and pulled him in for another kiss, it was sweet and tender. He felt his chest constrict in a weird mix of happiness and desperation that he couldn't explain and couldn't remember ever feeling before. 

"Are you sure about this, James?" Brock asked, his eyes holding James' entranced with the intensity of their gaze. "I need you to be sure, darlin'."

James responded by moving back farther onto the bed and spreading his legs in invitation, eyeing Brock's impressive erection and licking his lips. 

Brock chuckled but shook his head. "Need to hear you say it, darlin'."

Even as he hesitated, he was scanning James' body with his pupils blown wide in lust and palming his own cock to relieve some of the need. 

James' breath stuttered as he watched and he quickly said, "Yes. Yes, I'm sure. Need you, Brock."

The man was on him in a second, settling between his legs as their arousals moved against each other. Brock's lips latched onto one of his nipples, sucking and swirling his tongue around it expertly. James arched his back and moaned in appreciation. 

The moan turned into a whimper when Brock suddenly moved off of him again. 

"Hold on, darlin'. Hold on," Brock murmured, pressing a light kiss to James' chest as he stood up. "We need lube and a rubber. I'll be right back. 

He disappeared into the bathroom that was off to one side and James tried to catch his breath, his hands clutching at the bedsheets. He felt like his whole body was on fire. Everywhere Brock touched burst into flames and he never wanted it to stop. 

When Brock reappeared in the doorway holding a small bottle of lube and a condom, James groaned as his need for the man returned in full force. 

"I got you, James." Brock dropped down onto the bed again, setting the supplies next to them after spreading some lube on his fingers, and pressing kisses to his temple and forehead. "Don't worry. I got you."

One of Brock's hands reached between them to palm James' already leaking cock while the other explored lower with lubed fingers until they found his entrance. 

James lost himself in the way Brock's calloused fingers felt thrusting into him as they were added one at a time. The man took his time, making sure James was fully stretched and working until he was writhing and moaning in desperation, wanting to feel the man's cock inside of him. 

"Patience, darlin'," Brock said with a breathless laugh. "Don't wanna hurt you."

"You won't," James insisted, his words coming out in a growl though he was just as breathless as Brock. "You can't hurt me. I need you, Brock."

"Okay. Okay." Brock pulled his fingers away in a hurry and pressed his lips to James' fiercely as he reached for the condom. 

After he had rolled it on and spread more lube around his shaft, he slipped one arm under the small of James' back so that his hips were tilted up. James pulled Brock's lips back to his as the man lined himself up at the hole and began to push inside. Swallowing Brock's breathy gasps, James wrapped his legs around the man's waist and gripped his shoulders tight. 

James felt all of the man as he buried himself to the hilt. He felt the stretch and the length and the discomfort quickly giving way to pleasure as the man began to move.   
He felt the man's fingers scraping against the skin of his hip. He felt the drops of moisture pooling on his stomach. He felt his own muscles coiling tight as his pleasure built with each sharp thrust of Brock's hips. 

"You feel good," Brock panted, his chest rumbling under James' hands as he spoke, a puff of air hitting James' neck with each word. "So damn good, darlin'."

"Please," was all James could choke out in response, bringing his hips up to meet Brock's in desperation. 

The man groaned in response and increased the pace, his rhythm at the same time steady and frantic as he pounded into James desperately. 

James felt Brock's hand close around his cock again and begin stroking it in time with the thrusts. He felt a cry rip from his throat as the orgasm tore through his body. 

And then for a moment all he felt was the release and then the aftershocks buzzing through him, making his body twitch and stutter. 

"Fuck, James. Fuck," he registered Brock mumbling as he chased his own release, thrusting wildly a few more times before crying out in ecstasy. James held him and let his body rock with Brock's as the man rode out his orgasm, pressing kisses to his shoulder. 

James felt sticky and sweaty but really didn't care because he also felt utterly satisfied and content trapped in Brock's arms and under his body. 

Once Brock had pulled out and cleaned them both off, he laid back on the bed and pulled James against his chest. 

Running his hands down the hard curves of Brock's arms, James sucked a mark just under the man's clavicle, biting down lightly with his teeth. Rumlow chuckled and ran his hand through James' hair affectionately. 

"I'm glad you came here," Brock said lowly, drowsiness coating his words. 

James hummed happily in agreement. "Me too."

Silence fell for a few minutes as their breathing evened out and both men basked in the sated feeling. Before they succumbed to the sleep, James scooted up so his forehead was pressed against Brock's temple. 

"So you'll come with me?" He asked quietly. "Or...or I'll go with you? Or we could stay here forever if you want."

Brock turned his head so they were face to face, grinning widely. "That's real tempting, darlin'." He nudged James' nose with his own. "I'm with you wherever."

James angled his head and closed the distance between their lips, kissing Brock gently and losing himself in the sensation. 

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason, I found the end really hard to write. I'm not super satisfied with the way it turned out, but oh well.  
> I just have a thing for Rumlow. Sorry not sorry.  
> I need to write something other than Bucky. If you have a pairing that does not include Bucky that you'd like to see me write, tell me in the comments! I'm open to pretty much everything even super random pairings though I don't really do crossovers beyond other comic book/superhero characters and whatnot.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this fic! Feedback is always appreciated and honestly just makes my day when I see it.


End file.
